


Dig Me Out of Lies and Truths

by RabidRambler



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors/Dancestors, F/M, M/M, Multi, fantroll work, no canon trolls or characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:27:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabidRambler/pseuds/RabidRambler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about fantrolls and the pain they endured</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Valley of Death

 

 

      A man sits alone in a room. He is seated in a chair, yet is bound to the floor by his wrists and ankles, although it is achingly obvious he has lost all will to escape. His head hangs in silent resignation, long black hair falling in matted waves across war weary shoulders pock-marked by scars. His once intimidating horns had been shattered, the shameful remains protruding from his skull in haunting memory. A woman enters the room, dressed sharply, and regards him with a glacial glance. She sits down in the only other chair in the room and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap, all business. He does not acknowledge her, remaining so still that one might mistake him for dead, save the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his torso as he breathes. He sit folded in half, his chest touching his knees, with his shakled arms folded beneath him like a wiggler with a particularly bad stomach ache. The woman stares at him, filled with discust over the man's sickening decline from the regal being he used to be. 

"Good evening, Harlequin." He does not stir, dwelling in the neutral silence that dripped from the shadows and pooled in the vacant corners of the room.

"Good evening, Harlequin." She ventures a second time, but he remains unchanged. For a second she wants to believe he has died, but after a frozen moment of observation she finds that he is merely nonresponsive. She sighs and uncrosses her legs, leaning forward with her arms crossed atop her knees. Her voice lowered to a delicate whisper, she tries one more time.

"Would you prefer...if I called you Correy?" The man's head tilts upward at her with a pace that denotes pain. His face is ravaged, deep scars trace his face in lines of silver and faded indigo. Broken eyes peer out from sunken husks, rimmed in ancient remnants of white paint dragged askew by long dry unbidden tears. Deep wrinkles trace a downturned mouth, painful ghosts of what had once been laugh lines. 

"Sister...no one has called me that in a very long time. So I'd like to know how you got the knowings of that long dead name."

"You don't recognize me? Oh, dear. I'm quite offended."

"Should I have a recollection of you,  _tealblood_?" In a flash of movement, the woman reaches forward and takes a firm hold of one broken horn, wrenching him forward so that she could whisper in his ear.

"Damn straight you should, seeing as we were  _moirails_  once." She lets him go roughly and sits back, straightening her hair. She watches as the horror of realization saturates his face like water to paper. 

" _Sarrah_..."

 

 


	2. A Special Night - Preparations Begin

\--> Go to the Past, Many Sweeps into the Past

 

You sit in a room, at a desk, staring off into space. You have been there all day, your mind focusing and unfocusing, rambling on about everything and nothing, some important, some far from it. Sometimes you would get up and walk around, sometimes your mind would spill from your lips in your voice or another you've thought up. Your fingers would fly across the keys in spells of random trolling that ended up as documents on your husktop in a specific folder rather than on a pesterlog in Trollian where it might cause harm. You do not remember a lot of the day, but you have vague recollections of sitting curlled up in a corner murmuring everything that passed through your head. You did not sleep. Now you sit, alone, at your desk, exhausted and shell shocked.

**BANGBANGBANG**

 

"Correy?" Another boy's voice drifts through the door and the fog of your mind. "Hey, man, breakfast in ten. Be there or be hungry." You open your mouth and make an attempt to respond before the caller could walk away and count you out. You can smell the sumptuous scents of frying frazzle and pan-fried grubloaf. You know who had breakfast duty this evening, and motherfuck are you hungry.

"I-I'll be right out. Thanks, Hogens." There's an awkward pause, and for a second you wonder if Hogens has walked away without waiting for an answer.

"Can I come in, Correy?" You cringe. Today was not the first time you've had a psychic fit, and apparently there was a sound to your voice that hung around afterwards. 

"Yeah. Come in, I suppose." The door creaked open and Hogens' thin spectacled face appeared in the gap, his uneven horns scrapping lightly against the door frame. Hogens' face was awash with concern, his eyebrows knit tightly together, wrinkling his frontpan, and his eyes are on fire with curiosity. Hogens is a scientist, he spends almost all of his time in the huge basement of this place doing gog knows what. Only Lazara, Hogens' matesprit, knows what he does down there, but that's because she helps him do it.

"It happened again, didn't it?" All you can do is nod, a horrid pan-ache suddenly flooding your cranium. In one swift move, Hogens crosses the room and places his hand on your head, right between his two huge loops of horns. Hogens was special, he was not a mutant (although there was one in this hive) but he had the ablility to not only detect other people's emotions but to affect and manipulate them as he pleased. This included pain, and Hogens was the number one go-to for pan-aches. You sigh as the piercing pulse ebbs.

"Thanks."

"No problem." You lean back in your chair, rubbing your face with clammy hands.

"Okay. Let them know I'll be down in a minute or two, I have to clean up a bit, make up and get my present on, so as not to look like my pan has gone caddywumpus and shit." Hogens nods and leaves, his warm fingers lingering on one of your horns for a moment as he turned. You can't help but stiffen slightly. You had suspected for sometime that Hogens was pale for you, but you don't quite know how to let him down easy, and Hogens is not exactly one to say "no" to.

Rising stiffly from your sit pillar, you proceeded out into the hallway and down to one of the many communal refresh blocks. You stand there for a minute or two, staring at your paint-less face. You look naked, almost, like you've been striped of something important and are now laid bare before your gods. Pursing your lips, you fish the circular containers of white and grey paint from a drawer. As you move through the motions of anointing your face in the holy grub paint, you try to remember what happened last night. Your mind drifts to the other two Messiahs in the hive, and whether or not they experience the same psychic fits as you does. Exiting the refresh block, you bound down the hall with a renewed feeling of ecstasy back to your respite block. You change quickly, springing from the block with a mirthful "Whoop!", and run downstairs. The best way to cover up the evidence that the fits ever happened is to act natural. Jogging into the culinaryblock, you find almost everyone already seated around the big table, chattering quietly about nothing in particular. 

"Good evening, my wicked motherfuckers!" You cry, and all heads turn towards you."Good evening, Correy!" They all return with varying levels of enthusiasm and warmth. Smiling, you grab an available sitpillar. Sarrah greets you warmly from across the table. "Good evening, Correy. How'd you sleep?" Her cheeks are flushed slightly teal and she makes her hands busy with toasted grubloaf and sweetened fruit paste. 

"Very well. Thank you. How did you sleep, Sarrah?" You add a saccharine grin and her blush intensifies, her hands faltering for a moment, taken aback by the return of pleasantries.

"Uhh, great, actually." She laughs nervously, but not awkwardly, and you laugh with her. Hogens looks down the table, smiling knowingly, leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

 

Breakfast continues with no problems. The pan-fried grubloaf is exceptional, as usual. Delpha and Salina made breakfast, so you and Martia are on clean up duty. Martia is one of the two other indigobloods in this place. She's an interesting person, quick to draw her strifekind, always looking for a fight or a friendly fuck. She'd make a good kismesis for someone, if she wasn't so bloodthirsty. The thing that Martia lacks is compassion; she would likely kill her kismesis for sport and walk away without a qualm. As a result, no one touches her, save the occasional how-do-you-do. You and Martia clear the table in silence and place everything in the multiple dishwashers before parting ways. She doesn't care much of anyone, you especially. If it were up to her, she'd be the only clown in the hive, but there are things that keep you and Qarlin protected, her more than her, but still. 

  
Tonight is a special night for several reasons: Alexon and Lazara are due back from whatever business they had at sea, so everyone was super excited to have them back, so we were all pitching in with dinner tonight. Not only that, but an exciting geological thing-y was happening tonight. Tonight, both the green and the pink moons were gonna swing high and full in the sky. We had decided to have dinner on the roof, which is always a treat, even is the work to get it set up is a bitch. The very top level of the Mansionhive is a huge, ancient-looking dance floor, all covered in marble tiles in gradient shades of grey mixed with white and black. It's magnificent, especially for nights like tonight. You walk to the front doors, where there is a list of who's assigned to what duties tonight, and you, along with the other cooler bloods in the hive, have moving duties. Your job is to go to the roof and move the tables and sitpillars into place. You also have to clean the entire roof, luckily you have others to help you. As you proceed to the mass lifting compartment, you pass a hurried looking group of lowbloods; among them a girl all clad in grey, her symbol embroidered tastefully in black on the breast of her cloak.

 

\--> Be The Girl Clad in Grey

You step out of the hive and take a deep breath. The air is warm and balmy, the barest tendrils of pink still stain the farthest reaches of the horizon, but you all have left late enough that it won't cause problems. You and the other warmbloods have market duty tonight, and you have to leave early in order to be back in time. The Mansionhive is located about three miles from the nearest town, so it's a bit of a walk, but you don't mind; any chance to get out of the hive safely is one you'll take.

  
There are six of you going to market today. The two redbloods pull a flat wheeled device full of cartons of cluckbeast eggs and fresh baked grubloaf in various flavors. You all only have a little bit of money, and today would be the day to take stuff to market anyway. You have to make money somehow, because you're on your own, and most of you are almost working age. Almost. There are some of you who either can't work in a formal environment due to various reasons, or wont be able to work for several sweeps. You are one of the perpetually jobless, you'll continue to sell the goods you gather from your various resources, but you could never be employed, there's always a blood test, especially for hemononymous trolls like you. You look like you could be a lowblood: you're not very tall, and your horns don't help very much with that. Not that'd you'd want to look like a highblood, although sometimes you wish you didn't have to hide what you were.

  
As you travel, your lusus trots along behind you, sweet little thing. Yours is one of the few lusi still hanging around, others have either killed each other or died of natural causes. She tends to ride on your shoulder sometimes, but usually only at the hive. The lowbloods that surround you are wrapped up in their warmest garb. The long tubular device for messuring the temperature had indicated that, had there been clouds, frozen white precipitation would have been falling from the sky. Thankfully there were no clouds tonight, only crisp, cool, starry sky. Nevertheless, you are wrapped in your favorite cloak, which is lined in lusus fur. No one asks where you got it originally; they all assumed you made it yourself, even though you hadn't. A secret admirer had it sent to you, and you had accepted it graciously, but had never discovered who they were.

 

*********************

"How much for a pound of starch roots?"

"Ten Caegars." The gnarled woman behind the counter eyes you with a level of curiosity you are more than accustomed to getting. You meet her gaze, the yellow of her irises reminding you of old parchment. She looks away, and you start transfering the best of the starch roots onto the mass messuring device on the counter. Ten caegars for a pound of starch roots is pretty steap (you paid four last week), but these are good looking starch roots, and this is the best price you can find tonight. The prices on everything are going up due to the rebellion going on in the west. News has drifted this way of a revolutionary leader preaching blood equality, as well as a murmurings of a lowblood uprising. Some of you in the hive had investigated to try and find some more information, but what you found was highly censored, thereby making it unusable. One thing you did manage to find was that there was an increased number of hemononymous trolls walking around.

"Lina. Salina, hey." Your mind snaps back to the market to find one of your company standing before you with a questioning look. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. What's up, Innari?"

"We're done. It's time to go back." You nod, and she slips her arm around yours and leads you back to the group. "I've noticed you've been slightly preocupied lately. What's on your mind?" Suddenly you want nothing more than to sit down and tell her everything. You want her to know all of your thoughts and secrets. But then you realize that she is doing that, that your free will has been compromised and your thoughts are no longer safe. You extricate your arm with a low growl.

"Keep outta my head Innari, or I'll tear yours off. Got it?" She pales a bit but smirks nonetheless, refusing to be intimidated by someone she considers lower on the hemospectrum. If she knew what you were hiding she'd be trembling in fear, but she doesn't, so she stands there, this shiteating grin plastered across her face inciting within you the undeniable urge to kill her right then and there. Your lusus clambers up the back of your cloak and sits on your shoulder, growling at Innari. Innari clicks her tounge and coos.

"Aww, how sweet. Cute little Lina with her tough little lusus."

"Who do you think you are, Innari? You're on the bottom of the hemocaste, yet you talk like you're a highblood."

"Who are you to put me in my place? You won't even tell anyone where you stand!"

"It's none of your goddamned business where I stand!"

"Why do you hide your blood, huh, Salina? What have you possibly got to hide?"

"Still none of your business, Innari. Maybe if you were nice to me, I'd tell you, but since that is a total imossibility for you, I highly doubt you'll ever find out." And with that you turn and walk away, not interested in conflict. Innari is toxic, she has had a dozen kismeses, but never a moirail. She's confrontational, which is unusual for a redblood, but you've heard it makes for some great blackrom pailing. You don't have a moirail either, which makes things dangerous. There's a very good chance that you might kill Innari, and then where will you be?

Hogens slows his pace and comes up beside you. You can feel his aura of calm-cool-and-collected leeching into your mindset, and you welcome it with open arms. Tonight was supposed to be a night of celebration, and don't need to be bogged down by negative emotions. You watch Innari trip daintily past you and join the group ahead of you.

"You wanna tell me what happened back there?"

"Not particularly..." You walk on in silence for a few moments, watching Skyler try his best to hide his red crush from Harris while Wynona and Delpha argue back and forth over who gets to dance with Alexon first.

"Would you like to tell me now?"

"Innari was being her usual self, Hogens. End of story." Hogens sighs and shrugs, then picks up his pace again and catches up with the others. Sometimes you wish you didn't feel so alone. 


	3. Chapter 3 - The Party Commences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had details to riddle out and school and other things got in the way...

       Time seems to speed up the moment you set your foot in the door. Every member of the hive is working full throttle to prepare for tonight's festivities. The hive radiates energy, and you are swept away; before you know it, you are standing in your respite block trying to determine which garment to don for tonight's gala. You don't remember doing any kind of work; it's all a blur between the door and your block. Suddenly, there's a sharp knock on your door. 

       "Salina? It's Qarlin. Can I come in?"

      "Uh, yeah. Sure." Qarlin comes in, draped in folds of liquid indigo that shimmer and twinkle as she moves. Her usual mess of hair has been straightened and done up in an elaborate twist at the back of her head. She's absolutely breathtaking, and you suddenly feel inadequate. She sets down on the bed and eyes your wardrobifier.

     "Don't you have anything...colorful?" You purse your lips and shake your head. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "If you had told me, I could have made something for you." You smile sadly. 

      "Unfortunately, Qarry, I can't tell you what my blood color is. You wouldn't be able to make anything colorful for me. But I appreciate the offer." You turn back to your wardrobifier, selecting a sleek silver garment for approval. Turning back around you meet Qarlin face to face, hers only inches from your own. Her eyes are full of pity and rage and desire. Her hands come up to your arms, grasping you gently, her cool skin like needles against your hyperaware flesh. For a second you're not sure of anything, and you are deeply afraid that Qarlin is going to hurt you; tear into you and make you bleed like Innari has been wanting to do for so long. Instead she just sighs and lets you go, turning away and leaving without an explaination. Now you're worse off than before; no you know neither what to wear nor what to do. What was that just now, better yet, what did you want it to be?

 

\---------------------------------

       You join the rest of the house on the roof top. The atmosphere is magical; lights twinkle while people chatter lightly. Everyone looks so nice, even Innari. Hogens has his DJ station set up at the far end of the roof, and the music radiates across the dancefloor despite the lack of speakers. Hogens has a way with sound unlike any mastery you've ever seen. It's amazing, and it's a shame his mind is as twisted as it is. You catch a glimpse of Alexon, clad in a black suit with fushia accents, twirling gracefully across the dancefloor, absolutely stunning, with his matesprit Sarrah Morisi. You feel a tad sorry for Correy, one of the three indigos living amongst you all, who has had a flushed crush on Sarrah for sometime now. You don't blame him, however; Lex tends to stay away more than any of you deem appropriate. You had suspected for some time that Lex was tugging Sarrah around without any respect for her feelings. 

       Suddenly you find yourself spinning, coming to an abrupt stop in the arms of none other than Hadian Kantax, resident jadeblood. He smiles gently and you laugh. You waltz; you can't help but wish that you could tell him everything, although voluntarily this time. Hadian is quiet, almost mysterious; he graces the halls with his serene presence and kind, knowing smiles. Hadian is the one troll everyone wishes they could tuck into their pale quadrant, although everyone knows it would never work. Hadian can't help but play consilitory for anyone who needs it; you've seen him step in on numerous occasions. Without so much as a word he managed the situation and sent the various parties on their way. Hadian is a kind soul and you shudder to think of how things might be if he were to leave.

       When the dance ends you bow to eachother and he leaves with only a smile. You wager Hadian will be dancing with everyone tonight, just for fair messure. Hadian has only one quadrant filled, but his matesprit, Corali, is currently off world, training to become a functioning member of society. She turned ten less than a sweep ago, she's due back at the end of the sweep, although you imagine she won't be staying long before she has to go off and do something useful. The empire doesn't just train people so they can go back to their hive and hang out for the rest of their lives.

        You walk over to the edge of the roof and look out at the pristine sea. You wish you could go out there, sometimes you wish you could just leave and never come back. If you had a choice, you would, but you don't, so you can't. You turn around and watch Hogens and Lazara dancing; you admire Lazara's suit for a bit and almost wish you had a suit to wear rather than a dress. Just then Delpha and Ferion appeared out of nowhere, ginning like a couple of baffoons. The party pauses, everyone turning to gaze at the couple. Ferion stuck his hands in the air and cried jubbulantly "Dinner is served!", inciting a mass exodus from the dancefloor. Delpha looks a little panicked, and you can understand why. If you were standing where she was and were to be surrounded so suddenly by a hungry mass of almost twenty trolls, you'd be a bit panicked too. 


End file.
